Red
by AmethystB
Summary: It's Cassidy's funeral today and you can't decide whether to go or not. After all, who would be there? Who goes to murderers' funerals anyway? [Companion piece to Black and Blue]


**A/N: **So a little while back I wrote a Dick fic about Cassidy's funeral and some of the lovely reviews I received suggested I write a companion piece from Mac's perspective ... so here it is!

I don't own _Veronica Mars_, but it'd be cool if I did. Just sayin'.

* * *

It's Cassidy's funeral today and you can't decide whether to go or not. After all, who would be there? Who goes to murderers' funerals anyway?

Two weeks ago life was okay, and you think why couldn't it have been like that always? You wonder if it's better to believe in a lie than to know the truth, and you think probably yes because lies don't expose open wounds like truth does.

When you think of Cassidy you see red. Not the angry kind, but the worse kind. You see red because he was a killer and he was a rapist and he was a psychotic, but you loved him and you can't quite marry it all together, so it becomes a red stain in your mind and just sits there, waiting for you to sort it out but you never will—how could you sort something like _this _out?

The worst of it though is that you still love him. You know what he was, you know what he did, and there's some part of you that thinks none of it matters, that it's okay somehow.

It's dark outside now, not because it's night but because there are dark clouds full of threatening rain, and you think that's exactly how it should be. There is a storm inside of you too, a threatening darkness that brews and stills, brews and stills until one day you know it's all going to come apart, and you're going to come apart.

Veronica's in New York and won't be back for another week and a half, but you don't really want to see her anyway because she looks at you with sympathetic eyes and she doesn't talk about Cassidy but you know she hates him for what he's done. She hates him for her and she hates him for you, for Meg and everyone on the bus and for those who served as his collateral. _Get away from Beaver. He's a killer_. Veronica found that out too late, and you hunched naked in the corner of the room, crying out of your nose because you didn't know what was happening. You found out later, you found out everything and still there's some part of you that thinks it really isn't real, that Cassidy's still alive and he's making love to you right now.

You swallow bile. Cassidy _couldn't _make love to you, remember? Not with that mind ticking into overdrive, not with those horrible memories looming on the horizon of his brain. You think sex is something you'll never know now, that Cassidy was right and there'll be luck needed in you getting laid.

It's two o'clock, the priest would be there by now. You start walking because if you drive you don't know where you'd end up. You know the cemetery; it's not too far from your side of town.

You stand in the back, boots digging into the dirt that has seen so much death. There's Dick and his mother, Logan and the Catholic priest wearing white and green but that's about it. You didn't expect any different anyhow. The coffin is brown, closed and trimmed with gold—Cassidy's in there, at peace and you think that's how it should be.

Dick sees you and walks over, his gait uneven and his hair mussed—you can smell it on his breath, the vodka. He glares, glowers and looms over you. His eyes are red, but from crying or drinking you don't know. You don't dare ask him.

"You shouldn't be here." The words tumble out as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.

You can't think of anything to say that would appease or calm him, so you just say something you know he'd have trouble deciphering. "I couldn't not."

It's easier that way, to not tell the truth and to not fall into leaning on someone experiencing the same pain.

The truth is that you're here because you want to make sure he's dead, and that it's not some kind of nightmare you're trapped in. No doubt Dick feels the same way, but there's no way you'd tell him that.

Dick takes his hands from his pockets and his fingers twitch, like he's fighting the urge to make fists. But he lets his arms hang low and he just looks at you, glaring but it falters so you can see the pain there, the guilt he's trying to drink away. You know there will never be enough alcohol in the world to drown that out.

He doesn't say anything else and you can't so he walks away. You know it shouldn't be like this between you, that Dick is the only one who feels the same and that should bring you closer together. But you and Dick have never been close, why should that change now? He tormented you, teased with cruel intent when you held Cassidy's hand and you know deep down he was just jealous, but it made you feel insecure and it still makes you feel small.

Logan smiles at you in the distance and you smile back, not waving because you can't move because you feel like the gravity has doubled and everything is heavy, everything is hard. This is the weight of death, you think, and you want to fall apart but you can't move. There'd be no one to catch you anyhow, so you just stand there and wait until the world grows darker and the clouds release their mighty load.

You stand alone in the rain while the gravedigger comes to complete his day's work, shovelling wet dirt into the grave that will haunt you forever.


End file.
